


Dancing with Molly

by facewithoutheart



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Awkward Boners, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Spa Treatments, Spell Failure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facewithoutheart/pseuds/facewithoutheart
Summary: During the early stages of Simon and Baz’ truce, a spell-gone-wrong for Simon puts Baz in an uncomfortable situation. Also, never wear silk to bed when your enemy/crush is under the influence of magic.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 42
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Baz**

It’s a dark and stormy Friday evening. I have the whole room to myself with plans to keep it that way for at least another hour, so I’m reveling in the silence and sanity that a Snow-free room affords me. I’ve got a face mask on, a pedicure kit at the ready, smuggled wine in my tea mug, and a room full of lit, scented candles. To complete the ambiance, I have T. Swift’s greatest hits on shuffle (what self-respecting vampire _wouldn’t_ like an artist with a song called “Bad Blood”?). 

It’s everything I need to continue my post-Numpty recovery regimen.

Then, a knock on the door shatters my brief illusion of happiness. It’s an ominous knock if I’ve ever heard one: three loud staccato thumps. Nothing good can be on the other side of that door.

I am not prepared for guests (thank Merlin I spelled the door shut). I’m frantically hiding the evidence of my self-care; I shut off the playlist on my contraband phone and shove the pedicure kit back into its container and under my bed. 

I manage to make it all the way to the door, my hand on the handle, before I remember my panda print face mask and quickly peel it off my face directly into the trash (with no time to consider the consequences if I’d been caught in that state; my reputation would be shot down in a blaze of adorable glory). 

Though I don’t take the time to blow out my candles or turn on the overhead light, I take so long to answer the door I’m shocked no further beckoning occurs, given the urgency implied in the original knock.

I de-spell the door, and open it wide just as a bolt of lightning shocks the dark room with a flash. Illuminated in the doorway is an exasperated Bunce, a bored-looking Wellbelove, and a passed out Snow.

“Here’s your precious princess,” Bunce declares, with a crack of thunder following her words for emphasis. It’s me-levels of drama, and I’m actually impressed.

I recover quickly. I scoff and swiftly turn on the room light, resulting in a wince from everyone who’s not unconscious (see? I can do drama, too). 

“He’s not _my_ anything, Bunce,” I snarl (only in my dreams).

“It’s from Sleeping Beauty,” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve just always wanted to say it, ever since I saw that meme.” 

“What meme?” I ask. Agatha nods like she gets it, but she doesn’t explain, which annoys me. Although, everything about Wellbelove annoys me.

“You’re such a luddite,” Bunce says. “I’ll send it to you later. But first, can you help me with Simon?” She gestures in his direction, as if I haven’t been using my peripheral vision this whole time to stare at him and the adorable droplet of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth (I think I’m too far gone for therapy to help me at this point).

To keep up appearances, I roll my eyes at Bunce’s assumption that I’d ever help Snow. However, we _are_ on a truce right now so it’s not completely out of character for me to grab his arms and help Bunce drag him into the room. Speaking of being in character, of course Wellbelove does nothing to assist us in helping her boyfriend into his bedroom. Couldn’t get those perfectly manicured nails dirty, after all (actually, how does she keep them so perfect? Think she’d help with my pedicure?) (Nevermind, _focus, Basilton_ . The love of your life _needs your help_ ).

Once we’ve gotten Snow situated on his bed, it’s time to set clear boundaries. I’m quickly losing control of this situation.

“First of all, Bunce, you absolutely better not send memes to my cell. I gave you that number _for emergencies and mystery-solving epiphanies only_ and I will not hesitate to block you. Secondly, _what_ are you all doing here? And _what’s_ wrong with Snow?”

“Spell gone wrong, obviously.” Bunce rolls her eyes again. Seriously, she’s taking pages from my playbook and I _will not_ be out-Bazzed in my own bedroom.

So I roll my eyes right back at her. “Obviously, but why is this _my_ problem?” I look at Agatha. “He’s _your_ boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, actually,” Agatha says, crossing her arms. “And he’s already in his bed, so as far as I’m concerned, I’m done here.” She turns on her heel and walks away to the sound of my jaw hitting the floor.

I look over at Bunce, who seems equally annoyed but not an ounce surprised. “Agatha doesn’t do drama,” Bunce explains, as if that is in any way a satisfactory response.

“For someone who dated him for three years, you’d _think_ she’d care more about him,” I growl, before I can stop myself.

Bunce gives me this weird look, and I fear for a second that I’ve betrayed the depths of my feelings for Snow.

“What?” I ask, attempting a recovery. “I’m simply reconsidering my attraction to her, given her complete lack of loyalty.”

“Whatever,” Bunce shrugs, and I think I’m off the hook for the moment. 

“So are you ever going to tell me what happened?” I ask, hopping onto my bed. Bunce moves as if to sit next to me, but I snap my fingers at her and point emphatically to Snow’s side of the room. She reluctantly moves his feet out of the way and perches at the foot of his bed.

“We were playing music in Agatha’s room, since she’s basically got a single,” Here Bunce gives me a pointed look, as if I could have ever forgotten why Agatha’s roommate is no longer at Watford. “Anyways, so, you know how Simon’s magic is… unpredictable?”

“Intimately,” I drawl.

“Well, he accidentally sang one of the lyrics with magic, and it went a little literal,” Bunce says, now staring intently at her hands.

“What lyric, Bunce?” I ask, getting a little tired of this game. My wine buzz is wearing off, and I want to wash off the face mask residue before it clogs my pores (my level of beauty takes work, ok?).

She’s still not looking at me in the eyes, and I’m starting to get nervous.

“What. Lyric. Bunce.”

“Do you know ‘Can’t Stop’ by Miley Cyrus?”

Not wanting to betray my deep and sincere love for pop music (very off-brand for me, and a closely guarded secret), I answer, “Obviously not,” though I’m starting to sweat. I’m familiar with the song enough to fear the lyrics.

“Um, well, it was, mumblemumblemumble,” Bunce trails off.

I have vampire hearing, so I know she didn’t even attempt to say the words.

“Bunce, you have five seconds to tell me what the lyrics were, or I’m throwing you and Snow to the merwolves.”

“ **_Dancing with Molly_ **,” Bunce says.

Sweet Morgana. 

“Do you mean to tell me that my roommate is rolling on a mage version of ecstasy right now?”

Still avoiding eye contact, Bunce nods.

“And you brought him _here_?!” I shout.

Now that I’ve drawn her anger, Bunce finally looks at me. “Where else could I have taken him? _This is his room_. Plus, anathema - you can’t hurt him here. This is literally the safest place he can be right now.” She throws her hands in the air. “Why would this be a problem for you?”

Obviously, I can’t explain the real reason why having the object of my unreciprocated affection being on a drug that makes people handsy _in my bedroom_ could be an issue, so I go with the next best response, “Because I’m not his _babysitter_. I don’t have the first clue how to take care of someone on drugs, especially a fake magical one. Why not take him to the nurse?”

“I don’t want him to get in trouble, or worse,” Bunce explains. “The Mage doesn’t exactly know that Simon can make things happen outside the normal constraints of spells, just by adding magic to words.”

She’s got a point, but I’m not willing to concede just yet. “Fine, but you’re staying, too.”

Bunce groans. “Normally, I’d be more than happy for an excuse not to go back to my room, but I’m heading home for one of my sibling’s birthday celebrations this weekend. I’m actually supposed to leave in a few minutes.”

“You’re leaving me alone with him?” And, of course, my voice squeaks when I say this, because my entire life is a joke.

To her credit, Bunce lets my brief regression into puberty slide, though probably only because her own contraband phone chooses this moment to go off.

“Look, Baz, I am really sorry to leave you with him. But he’s been asleep for awhile. I fully expect him to just, you know, sleep it off.” She starts walking out the door, carefree, like she hasn’t just handed me the embodiment of my worst nightmare. “I have to go. I’m sorry. Call me if you need me!” And before I can protest, she’s gone.

I flop back on my bed and stare at the ceiling for a while, begging for a higher power to give me some answers. Or strike me dead. One of the two, though I’m wishing harder for the latter option.

I look over at Snow. He _is_ sleeping pretty soundly. It’s possible the effects have already worn off and left behind only exhaustion. Plus, the storm outside seems to have calmed down. Maybe that’s a sign that my luck may hold out? I take a deep breath in, and exhale. Snow echoes my breathing with a snore of his own. I feel a little better. 

How long can the effects last?

With plans to fall asleep before I find out, I head to the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth, and change into my pajamas.

And come back to find Simon Snow fully awake. In my bed.

“Baz!” He cries, throwing his arms open, like we’re the best of friends and he’s greeting me with a hug.

“Snow, get out of my bed,” I growl.

“No!” He exclaims, burrowing beneath my blankets. Muffled beneath my comforter, he says, “Smells good in here.”

I am way past my patient point, and more willing to compromise than I’ve ever been in my life. “ _Fine_ ,” I say. “I’ll take your bed.”

I curl up on his bed, and it smells like him, which would be torture enough except, because Snow runs hot, he only sleeps with a top sheet. I start shivering almost immediately.

“Baaaz,” He whines.

“Shut up, Snow,” I mutter out of my chattering teeth.

“Baz, come here. I’ll keep you warm.”

I didn’t realize it was possible to hate him, Bunce, and myself even more, but here it is. The deepest well of anger I’ve ever tapped. I throw his sheet off in a huff, and stomp over to my bed.

“Snow, get out of my bed _this instant_.”

“But I’m cold and you have all of the blankets.”

“Then shut the window, and go to your bed.”

“The window is shut.”

I look over and, Crowley, he’s right. Is the spell making him run colder than normal? I place my hand on his forehead to test, and the evil git _rubs my hand all over his face._

“Mmm, your hand is smooth,” He mumbles.

I yank my hand back instantly. “Seriously, Snow. If you don’t get out of my bed in five seconds, I’ll throw you to the merwolves.” Yeah, it’s a repeat threat, but an effective one.

Normally.

“Psh, anathema. You’ll do no such thing,” Snow mutters. “Now come to bed.”

Of course, he’d use a phrase from one of my top ten domestic Simon Snow fantasies. I close my eyes, build up my resolve, and try again.

“Snow.”

“ _Baz,”_ He growls back at me in a pitch-perfect impression of my angry voice (no pun intended).

I sigh, and look out the window. The rain seems to be stopping. Maybe I can go to the catacombs and drain a few rats until he’s asleep. Or maybe I can go down to Dev and Niall’s room and sleep on the floor, bad leg be damned. Except I can’t bear to leave Snow alone. He seems fine now, but I do actually care if he hurts himself. Unlike Wellbelove.

Only one option left. At least this will let me better keep an eye on his condition; in case he dies in his sleep, or something. I’m not really sure how molly works (especially the magic-induced kind); I know what little I do from Fiona (and, when it comes to Fiona-drug stories, I try _desperately_ not to pry. For my own sanity).

So, against my better judgement and with the best intentions possible, I get into bed with Simon Snow (after stealing one of the pillows from his bed). I stay as close to the edge as possible; seriously, if I move a millimeter I’ll fall off the mattress. 

Crowley, he’s warm. Even this far away from him, my entire body is humming with his heat. But there’s something different. Something… missing.

“Snow, are you wearing your cross?”

“Nuh-uh. Took it off when I got in your bed,” He mutters into _my_ pillow. “Didn’t want to hurt you.”

My throat starts to choke up. For Snow, this is actually a really sweet move. There was a time where he’d even shower with the cross on, as if I’d attack him there (I mean, I’ve fantasized about it but in a very different context) (still included biting, though). 

Even though Snow only took off the cross in order to steal my blankets, I can’t help but feel even warmer at this admission. I didn’t think it was possible, but my affection for him deepens.

Until I hear the crinkle of sheets.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting closer. You’re still shivering.”

“I’m perfectly fine, Snow. I don’t need your body warmth.”

“Shhh,” He whispers. Then, he curls up behind me, and wraps his arms around my waist. This is enough to make me want to sink into the mattress and die, but then the fucker starts _rubbing my stomach_. 

“Snow,” I mutter. “What are you doing?”

“‘S soft.” He mumbles.

“That’s because it’s silk, you cretin.” I’m hoping insults will save me. “Now get your hands off me; your calloused sword-wielding hands are ruining this fine fabric.”

And then the bloody bastard has the audacity to _moan_ . This is an actual nightmare, albeit possibly a wet one (if those even exist) (if they do, it’d be just my luck to have one). I stare at the wall and try to think of anything to slow down my body’s reaction to _Simon Snow rubbing his hands all over my chest_ when I feel it. Him. Did… is he? I go completely still.

Then, as soon as I recognize what it is (holy sweet mother of-) he shifts his hips away from me. “Sorry,” he giggles.

Is it too late to **_Tyger, Tyger_ ** myself out of existence?

To my relief, he moves his hands from my torso. I breathe a sigh of relief. Until he buries them in my hair, massaging my head.

“Mmm, soft.” He sighs. “Like I thought.”

There is no world where I have the brainpower to parse _that_ statement. A statement that implies Simon Snow has thought about how my hair feels. Because I’m trying to remember he is under the influence of a mind-altering spell and I absolutely will not take advantage of it. Despite the fact that his hands in my hair is the most relaxing (and, frankly, arousing) experience of my life.

“Snow, if you don’t take your hands off me this second, I am spelling you to the bed.”

To my surprise, this works. He takes his hands out of my hair, and backs away.

I may be able to sleep tonight.

Until Snow whimpers.

I groan. “What now?”

“I’m lonely.”

“Why?”

“I dunno… just. Agatha dumped me. Penny’s going to leave me for Micah and America. I’ll have to face the Humdrum all on my own. It’s scary.” He sounds like a child, and I know it’s partly because of the spell. But in some ways he is still a child. Just a boy, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. It shouldn’t be his alone to bear.

“What about the Mage?”

He scoffs. “What about him? He’s too busy fighting the old families. We haven’t talked about the Humdrum in weeks.”

I pause. “Don’t you want to fight the old families?”

“No.” He sighs, moving a little closer to me, but without touching me. “That’s not my war.”

Neither of us speak for a minute.

“I’ll help you,” I finally break the silence. “Fight the Humdrum, I mean.”

“You’d do that?”

“You’re helping me. With my mother.”

“Still, what you’re offering. It’s a lot.”

I sigh. “It’s really not.”

He reaches across the bed, laying his hand gently on my waist. He keeps it there, still. I let him.

“You’re not alone, Simon,” I whisper.

But he’s already asleep.

So I join him.

**Simon**

I wake up disoriented. I’m not sure what happened last night, but my hand is on _something_ and I’m not sure what it is. Keeping my eyes closed, because the sunlight is hurting me, I start to move my hand up and down the strange object, trying to figure out what it is.

“Snow, I thought I warned you that if you didn’t stop feeling me up, I’d spell you to the bed.”

I freeze, “Baz?” My voice comes out in a whisper.

“Yes, who else would it be but the victim of your ceaseless groping?” He groans, and I hear a rustle of sheets, like he’s throwing them over his head.

I’m keeping my eyes shut. For protection, though I’m not sure from what. “Why are you in my bed?” I grope at my neck. “Where’s my cross?” _What is happening?_ I sit upright and finally open my eyes. Except, Baz isn’t in _my_ bed. I’m in _his_.

Christ.

I look over at him, and he’s buried under the covers, all the way to the edge of the bed. He’s basically one weak jostle from falling on the floor. It occurs to me that, for someone in the same bed as their enemy, he is remarkably calm.

“Snow.” He says. “Don’t freak out.”

I realize my magic is starting to build. I take a few deep breaths. It seems to calm me down.

“Can I move, or will you go off?” He asks.

I scoot farther away from him. “I’m fine - you can move.”

He sighs, and flings the sheets down, wincing at the sunlight like it’s causing him pain, too. “I assume by your line of questioning that the spell has worn off?”

“What spell?”

“Simple, yet effective answer. I’m proud of you, Snow.” He groans and flinches out of bed (like I’d thought, it didn’t take much movement to get him on the floor). He walks over to the window and throws the shades closed, as if they’d personally offended him. Although, for once, I’m grateful for the curtains.

He walks over to the bed, and crosses his arms, staring at me. His hair is a _mess_. It’s pointing in all different directions. I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh.

He must catch my reaction, and the direction of my stare, because he immediately throws his hands to his hair and starts smoothing it down. “I wouldn’t be quite so pleased if I were you. Considering _you’re_ the reason my hair’s so mussed.”

This stops me dead in my tracks. I’m in Baz’s bed. I messed up his hair. “What happened last night?”

“Don’t you remember?” He winks at me.

I gulp.

Then, he laughs. “The look on your face--it was almost worth it.” He leaves the bedside and heads to the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, Snow. Your purity is still intact. Find Bunce when she gets back from her weekend away and I’m sure she’ll explain everything.”

I rub my eyes, and look at the clock. Crap! I only have 15 minutes before breakfast is over. Luckily, I seem to have fallen asleep in my clothes (or, unluckily? I guess I’ll have to wait for Penny's explanation).

I race out the door, but stop when something catches my eye from the trash can. I pull out what appears to be… a panda mask? Except it’s really thin and is covered in some weird substance. 

Merlin, what happened last night? 

Maybe it’s best I don’t remember.


	2. Drinks Bring Back All The Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back by (shamelessly solicited) popular demand, the somewhat anticipated follow-up to "Dancing With Molly."
> 
> Can Penny help fill the gaps in Simon's memory? Will Baz keep his promise to help Simon fight the Humdrum? How have I written over 6,000 words about Simon Snow without one of them being "scone"?

**Simon**

After breakfast, I head back to the room, but Baz is gone. On a normal day, I’d pace the whole of Watford until I tracked him down, accused him of plotting, and provoked a fight. But that train of events doesn’t appeal to me today. I don’t know what happened last night, but I get the sense that something changed. Something that means we shouldn’t be fighting. It’s the only clarity I have in a field of haze.

I take my homework to the library and spend the day there, wanting to avoid the room until I figure things out. I leave only to eat lunch (Baz doesn’t make an appearance in the dining hall, which, for once, I’m grateful). It’s the most productive I’ve ever been on a weekend, and Penny isn’t even here to give me credit. She’s at her parent’s house for the weekend, and won’t be back until Sunday.

Or so I thought. Until I break for dinner and see her at our usual table. I practically run over.

“Penny! You’re back early!”

She wraps me in her arms for a hug, “Simon! I had to come back to check on you.” She pulls back and looks me in the eye. “Are you feeling better?”

I nod, and she lets me go so I can grab a plate. I know I should prioritize mystery over dinner, but, roast beef.

Full plate in front of me (and still no Baz), I sit down next to Penny and lean in. “So, what happened last night?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Baz didn’t tell you?”

I shake my head. “No, he said to ask you.” It flashes across my brain that I should probably mention he wasn’t in a mood to talk because  _ I was asleep in his bed _ but I leave that part out for now.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Penny asks.

I tilt my head to the side. “I remember going to Agatha’s room, and playing music, and then? Nothing. Not until I woke up this morning.”

I try to add the words ‘cuddling with Baz’ but my mouth stops working, like someone spelled me with  **_Cat got your tongue_ ** .

Penny nods along. “Yes, well, you accidentally said some of the song lyrics with magic--by the way, when were you going to tell me you could do that--and you. Sort of…” She trails off.

“What, Penny?” I’m starting to sweat a little bit.

“Well, you sort of accidentally spelled yourself on molly.”

My eyes blink wide open. I’ve never done drugs before, but over the summers I’d become acquainted with their varieties and effects. Religious charity groups loved to teach us about the consequences of sex, drugs, and alcohol (some of the boys built a whole drinking game based off the common themes).

Suddenly, it makes a little more sense why I had my hand on Baz’s waist this morning.

Except, nothing makes sense at all.

“ _ Why _ would you leave me with  _ Baz _ ?” I practically yell. Heads turn in my direction, and Penny spells,  **_Nothing to see here_ ** and the faces eventually turn away.

“Simon! Calm down.” 

My magic is starting to buzz. Again. I do some deep breathing until Penny’s face relaxes.

“Better?” She asks.

I nod. 

She sighs. “Why is this the reaction both you and Baz both had? How could your room not be the safest place for you? You had the protection of the anathema and your cross--” Here my hand flies to my neck, which is still bare, though I don’t think Penny can see “--and your own bed,” Penny explains. “Plus, when I left, you were sleeping so deeply even the storm didn’t wake you. I figured you’d be fine.”

I gulp. “Where was I sleeping when you left me?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “In your bed. Why would you--” Her eyes widen. “Simon, did something happen last night?”

I wince and look at the ceiling. 

Penny grabs my arm. “Simon! What happened?”

“I don’t know!” I shout. Penny’s spell holds, though--no one looks over this time. I lean into her anyways and whisper, “I don’t remember, ok? All I know is I woke up in Baz’s bed, and he--” I swallow. “He said something about me groping him?”

Throwing her head back, Penny laughs like she does at Monty Python’s Life of Brian. 

“It’s not funny!” I pout, but it’s no use. Penny cries with laughter, her curly hair bouncing as her whole body shakes, reveling in my embarrassment.

“You… you…” She tries to get out between chuckles. “You  _ groped _ him?”

I push away my dinner plate and cross my arms. Not even roast beef can save me now. I wait until Penny calms down.

Wiping away her tears, Penny gives me this look I can’t interpret and says, “Oh, Simon.”

I sigh. “Are you finished yet?” 

She at least has the courtesy to nod contritely. 

“So, are you going to help me remember?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

I think about that feeling I had this morning, that something important happened. Something that meant I shouldn’t fight with Baz. Something I need to know. 

“Yes, Penny. I have to remember.”

**Baz**

I manage a Snow-free day with ease, and it’s a rare relief to have time to sort my feelings without being accused of plotting. I’m getting a sneaky suspicion that Snow is avoiding  _ me  _ for once. Combine that anomaly with the look on his face when I winked at him this morning, and the brief window into my own personal hell was almost worth it.

Almost.

No matter how long I hide from our room, I can’t escape the ghost of Snow’s hands on my body, his fingers in my hair. The promise I made to him, under the cover of darkness and a spell.

When Snow made a similar promise to me, I didn’t let him off the hook. Now, with the roles reversed, my conscience is plaguing me. 

I didn’t even know I still had one.

If I’m being honest with myself, I do want to help him. I’ve wanted to help him for years. I just didn’t know how to reach out, until he did. He’s always been the brave one. Except, he doesn’t remember last night.

I’m starting to think I want him to.

**Simon**

Penny and I find a quiet corner of the library, and set up her laptop. Penny thinks that, because last night’s spell was caused by a lyric, the key to getting my memory back is another song. So, we’re searching the internet for applicable lyrics.

“I think I found one from Maroon 5,” Penny says. “The drinks bring back all the memories.” She pauses. “Is that too literal?”

I shrug. “Maybe if you spell it for me. Do I need to drink alcohol?”

She tilts her head. “It couldn’t hurt. Especially since the spell that caused it was about partying.”

“You’re making me into a real rebel,” I grin at her. “So, where can we find alcohol?”

She clears her throat. “I’m pretty sure Baz was drinking wine last night…”

I sigh. “Fine. Let’s go back to my room.”

Nodding, “It may be easier for us to recover your memories there, since that’s where they happened.”

The room is empty when we get there, to my relief. Baz keeps his drawers spelled shut, but Penny manages to locate the wine. I take my tea mug and pour some in, enough to taste but not enough for Baz to miss the difference. When Penny puts the wine back where she found it, and I start bracing myself for what I’m about to learn.

“Ready?” Penny asks.

“Ready.” I nod.

“ **_Drinks bring back all the memories_ ** ” She spells, and I take a sip of the wine.

Penny looks at me. “Anything?”

I shake my head.

We try a few more times, until my wine is out. We try playing the Miley Cyrus song a few times, and I move around the room to see if anything sparks my memory. Eventually, it’s late and Penny goes back to her room before Baz catches her. I head to the en suite to get ready for bed.

When I walk back into the room, I catch a glimpse of something folded by Baz’s bed. His pajamas. There’s this weird glow to them, but not like a light. It’s like nothing else in the room is in focus, except those pajamas. My feet walk over to them, as if spelled. I reach out my hand, and place my fingertips on the fabric.

In a whoosh, a wave of memories come back to me. Of me getting in Baz’s bed to better smell his soap. Begging him to join me. My body warmth, pressed up against his cold. The softness of his pajamas. How I threaded my fingers through his hair because I suddenly realized I’d always wanted to. What I felt when he pushed me away.

His promise.

His whispered confession. 

And then the door opens, and I’m no longer alone.

**Baz**

I walk in to find Snow standing by my bedside, holding my pajamas.

“What did I tell you about your hands on my silk?” I ask, knowing full well he doesn’t remember.

But then he looks at me, and I know he does.

This is what I wanted, so why am I so terrified?

“Baz,” He says. And the way he speaks my name, it’s almost like a prayer. It’s too much. 

My back is pressed up against the door to our bedroom, and I'm afraid to move. So I strike with my words instead. “Well, since you clearly remember last night, you’ll know that the last thing I want is your hands on my pajamas.” 

He drops them, like he’s been burned. “Baz, I don’t want to fight you.”

I scoff. “Since when?”

“Since a long time ago. Since always, I think.”

“Could have fooled me,” I say, finally moving into the room, pushing him away from my side and grabbing my pajamas from where they fell. Then, I head to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When I come out, he’s sitting on his bed. He’s still awake, but he’s staring at his hands like they’re telling him something he needs to know. He looks up at me. 

“You promised to help me with the Humdrum.”

That would be the one thing he could say. The one guilt-laced outcome of last night. I flop down on my bed.

“I know,” I say.

“Did you mean it?”

I roll over to face him. “I did.”

“Why?” And the look on his face is so open. Honest. He’s a beacon of good and truth and I don’t know how to answer his question without confessing how I see him. So, I lie.

“I told you last night. You offered to help me find out about my mother. It’s only fair that I return the favor.”

“Except it’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

I groan. “Why must you make everything so difficult?”

“ _ Me? _ ” He says. “How am I the difficult one here?”

“ _ Because _ ,” I reply. “You can’t just accept the help I’m offering. You have to question it.” He opens his mouth to speak, “And if you say the word ‘plotting’ I promise: I’ll tell the whole school how you crawled into my bed and felt me up last night.” 

His face turns bright red, and the smell of smoke fills the room. I sigh. “Take a deep breath, Snow.” But it doesn’t work. He’s starting to glow around the edges, and I’m starting to look toward the exit. “Simon. What do you need?”

He’s still taking deep breaths, but it’s not slowing down the heat that’s rising. “I don’t know!”

I think of what he said last night, about how alone he felt. How he’d sought me for comfort. Crowley. I’m going to have to do something really, really stupid.

I sit down on Simon Snow’s bed, and I wrap my flammable arms around the boy who’s about to catch on fire. Closing my eyes, I wait for the sweet release of death. But it doesn’t come.

Instead, the heat drops instantly, like Snow’s been doused with a bucket of water, leaving only a hint of smoke lingering in the air. “Feel better?” I ask.

I feel his curls move against my cheek as he nods. And then his hands begin to move. Again.

“Snow,” I growl. 

“Your pajamas really are soft,” He says.

And, because I’m a shame to the entire lineage of Pitches, I laugh. He leans back from our embrace and shines that awful, enrapturing smile straight into my soul.

“You called me Simon,” He says.

I scoff. “I did no such thing.”

“You did,” He says, bringing one hand up to caress my cheek. The other drops down from my shoulder to my waist. Our faces are so close, we’re breathing each other’s air.

I have no idea what’s happening, but I can’t bring myself to stop it now. 

“Say it again,” He says, moving his hand toward the base of my neck, threading his fingers into my hair.

“Or what?” I breathe.

And then, he kisses me. 

**Simon**

I’m kissing him. I’m kissing  _ Baz _ . I’m kissing a bloke. But, it feels right, somehow. Fated. To think of all of those years wasted on hate and aggression, when we could have been doing  _ this _ . 

He pushes me down onto the bed, and straddles me from above. Well, maybe the experience from fighting hasn’t gone completely to waste.

He pulls back from my mouth, and I almost whine, until he starts leaving a trail of kisses down my jaw, my neck. The soft spot between my neck and my shoulder, where I’m definitely not wishing a certain vampire might use a little teeth.

“I don’t want to be enemies anymore,” I breathe.

“Then what do you want to be?” He says, just before he reads my mind and nips just above my clavicle.

“Boyfriends?” I gasp.

He pulls back, and grins at me. “That is an extreme and illogical escalation of affection and I, for one, am here for it.” Then he resumes tracing the lines of my body with his mouth and I’m certain he’s punishing me for something. I hope he never stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented that they'd enjoy a part 2. It was an underserved and thoroughly appreciated boost to my ego. As an extra thanks, I'm also writing a part 3. Because there's one very important part of this story left to tell.


	3. Check My Nails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon, Baz, Agatha and Penny have a spa day. Baz uses a Harry Potter spell, successfully (to Simon's embarrassment). Feels happen.

_ One month later... _

**Simon**

Ever since I discovered that the weird panda mask in the trash was one of Baz’s facial sheet masks, I’ve been begging him for a spa night. He’s finally scheduled one, on the promise that I bring Agatha as well (I’m a little nervous about the two of them being in the same room together, given recent developments, but Baz is obsessed with her manicure) (and I’m learning that I don’t like denying Baz the things he wants).

To my surprise, when I invite Agatha, her face lights up in a way it never did during three years of dating me. I’d be insulted, but honestly I’m just glad everyone is getting along.

Self-care with Normal beauty products isn’t really Penny’s scene, but she decides to tag along (I’ve long since learned there’s no point in  _ inviting  _ Penny to anything; she either wants to come or she doesn’t, and there’s no convincing her once she’s made up her mind, one way or the other). 

On the scheduled night of indulgence, Baz tells me I’m not allowed back in our room until 6 p.m. 

“Not a minute earlier, Snow,” He warns, and I can tell by his use of “Snow” that he means business.

I take the spare time to help Ebb with her goats, so I’m definitely ready to be pampered by the time 6 rolls around.

I take the stairs to our tower two at a time, eager to see what Baz has prepared. When I open the door, I see Penny and Agatha are already there. Baz has the room covered in lit, scented candles (I repress the urge to shout, “Baz! You’re flammable!”), and there’s a towel on the floor, covered with beauty products I’d never be able to identify without his help.

He crosses to the door, hands me a glass of wine (in a real wine glass, the posh tosser), and kisses me softly on the cheek. “Happy one month-aversary.”

My eyes widen. “Oh no! I didn’t realize--was I supposed to do something for you?”

He takes one of my hands and squeezes it gently, but rolls his eyes for Penny and Agatha’s benefit. “No, Simon. It’s silly to celebrate one month together.” But I know he’s a secret softie, so I resolve to do something special for him later.

I can sense the girls are still uncomfortable with Baz and my displays of affection, so I move to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of Baz’s carefully selected supplies.

“What are all of these?” I ask.

Penny, Agatha and Baz move to the floor as well.

“Honestly, Snow, as per usual you’re so far behind the class it’d be a detriment to the entire room to even begin to explain,” Baz drawls. But one of the corners of his mouth ticks upwards, and I know he’s teasing. 

I smile a wide grin at him. “Fine. Give me the remedial version.”

An hour later, I’ve been plucked, exfoliated and moisturized by Baz. Penny tried  **_Check my nails_ ** to give herself a manicure for about fifteen minutes, before giving up and letting Agatha do them the Normal way. They’re painted purple to match Penny’s hair.

Once Agatha finishes with Penny, Baz strategically finds his way to Agatha’s side. She rolls her eyes, but smiles as he stretches his long legs out for her to paint his toes. 

I watch this strange scene and flashback to when I thought Baz was trying to steal Agatha away. Sure, they’d make a great-looking couple (they’re probably the most attractive people I’ve ever seen) (and I dated both of them, which is all sorts of confounding). But Baz keeps looking over at me and he gives me  _ these looks _ that make my heart melt. I can’t believe I ever thought he had eyes for anyone but me.

Penny and I are getting slightly bored of the pampering, so we decide to look for some music. Neither of us can dance, but we love a good dance party. I’m going to refrain from singing, though. Learned that lesson the hard way (although, I suppose it did all work out for the best).

“Baz, where do you keep your--oh here it is,” Penny says, finding Baz’s cell and searching for music. “Of course you’d have a self-care playlist.”

“Wait, don’t--” Baz says. He tries to wiggle out of Agatha’s grasp, but she swats at him and holds his feet still so he can’t get away.

Suddenly, Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me” starts playing. Penny and I look at each other and laugh. Baz has given up struggling out of Agatha’s surprisingly strong grasp, crossing his arms and pouting on the floor. But I actually know this song so Penny and I dance around until Baz’s toes are dry enough for him to get up and stop the playlist.

“You’ll regret that,” He whispers in my ear. I shiver; I hope I do.

“Ok,” Baz claps. “Face sheet time!” He pulls out four packets and spreads them face down on his bed, to add an element of surprise (he’s such a drama queen). Penny picks first and gets a tiger. Appropriate. Agatha gets a pig, which makes us all laugh. Baz gets the panda, no surprise there, and I get a llama, which thrills me to no end (my hair is somewhat llama-esque). We apply the masks, take selfies, and try (unsuccessfully) to drink wine through the small holes in the face sheets.

Finally, it’s time to watch whatever film Baz has planned for us. I curl up next to Baz on his bed, and Penny and Agatha take mine (Baz says Penny makes his sheets smell like sage for days, in a blatant attempt to get me on the bed next to him, as if he still needs an excuse). Penny spells a white sheet onto the back wall, to use as a backdrop for the projector. Then, I notice something missing.

“Where’s the projector?” I ask. “For the movie?”

Instead of answering, Baz and Penny just look at each other. 

“What are we watching, guys?” I look around the room for an answer, but none comes.

Agatha snickers. This can’t be good.

“ **_Pensieve_ ** ,” Baz says, and then points his wand at the sheet.

“I thought Harry Potter spells weren’t supposed to work?” I exclaim. “Wait, pensieve, isn’t that the bowl that shows someone’s… hold the fuck up. Whose memories are we watching?”

Baz’s shoulders start shaking with laughter. I look over and his whole face is as red as it ever gets.

_ Oh no. _

On the screen, I see me, in Baz’s bed.

_ “Baz!” _ Past-me cries, with his arms wide open.

_ Oh Merlin. _

“Simon!” Penny and Agatha call back, and I’m getting the sick sensation that they’ve seen this before. And have possibly scripted an entire Rocky Horror Picture Show-like experience to play along.

_ “Snow, get out of my bed,” _ Past-Baz growls.

“Stay forever! I secretly love you!” Penny and Agatha scream. 

If I weren’t so mortified, I’d probably be laughing with them.

I watch past-me burrow into the blankets, then hear him say,  _ “Smells good in here.” _

“Of course it does! I’ve only been obsessed with you since year 5!” cries the Penny-Agatha chorus.

I sink into those same comforters, seeking the same safety as before, just in a very different way. Baz is munching happily on popcorn next to me, expertly maneuvering both his fangs and the oddly placed panda sheet mask hole for his mouth.  _ Arsehole _ .  _ Cute arsehole. _

We watch past-Baz get into my bed, leaving past-me alone on the other side of the room. Penny and Agatha start throwing popcorn at the screen. “This is not the bed sharing movie we were promised!” Even Baz throws a few kernels. I sigh, and join in. At this point, no one’s sheet mask is still on except mine; the others have ruined them with their traitorous laughter.

_“Baz, come here. I’ll keep you warm,”_ Past-me says.

Penny and Agatha look at me, and then sing, “Oooh I’ll bet you’ll keep him warm.”

I can’t help myself. I start laughing, and pull off my mask as well. Baz puts an arm around me and kisses the top of my head, just as past-Baz stomps over to yell at past-me.

_“Snow, get out of my bed this instant,”_ Past-Baz grumps.

I don’t hear Penny and Agatha’s comments because Baz whispers, “I never actually wanted you to leave.”

_ “But I’m cold and you have all of the blankets,” _ Past-me says.

I whisper to Baz, “That’s not the real reason I was in your bed.” 

His cheeks pinken slightly, which is full-blown blush for Baz. “Really?” He asks, raising one eyebrow.

When past-me rubs Baz’s hand all over his face, Penny and Agatha scream, “Get a room!”

“We’re in our room!” The current versions of ourselves call back. We all laugh.

_ “Seriously, Snow. If you don’t get out of my bed in five seconds, I’ll throw you to the merewolves,” _ Past-Baz threatens.

“Get a new insult, you hack!” Penny exclaims. There’s a new volley of popcorn, this time from Baz’s bed toward Penny. She ducks under a pillow.

Oh, I know what’s coming up next. I straighten up in the bed.

_ “Snow,” _ Past-Baz says.

And then all of us, in our best Baz Pitch impressions, growl, “Baz,” along with past-me.

We devolve again into laughter, except Baz. “I do  _ not _ sound like that,” He pouts. Then, as the two figures on the screen still, so do we. 

_ “Snow, are you wearing your cross?” _ Past-Baz asks.

_ “Nuh-uh. Took it off when I got in your bed. Didn’t want to hurt you,” _ Past-Simon answers.

“Aww,” Penny says. I look over, and there are tears in Agatha’s eyes. I’m getting the feeling they haven’t seen this part yet.

“Um,” I whisper to Baz. “Should we stop here? Before the. Uh.”

“The groping, you mean?” Baz asks, raising that damnable eyebrow again.

On the screen, I see past-me inching toward past-Baz. When I gained my memories back using the Maroon 5 song, I got them all at once, so each individual moment was wrinkled, as if it had been slightly stuck to the others. But here, watching the scene replayed in life size, I can now remember perfectly the rustle of the sheets, the appeal of Baz’s cold body, the softness of his shirt. My heart starts to beat faster. I can tell Baz hears this, because out of the corner of my eye I can see that one eyebrow creeping closer to his hairline.

In my bed, watching past-me cuddle up to Baz, Agatha and Penny are eerily quiet.

_ “What are you doing?” _ Past-Baz asks.

_ “Getting closer. You’re still shivering.” _ Past-me answers.

_ “I’m perfectly fine, Snow. I don’t need your body warmth.” _

“This is hot,” Penny says, finally.

“Shhh,” Past-me and current-me shush, and Penny looks a little freaked by the coincidence.

_ “Snow,” _ Past-Baz mutters.  _ “What are you doing?” _

The movement on the screen looks vaguely pornographic. I gulp.

_ “‘S soft.” _ Past-me mumbles.

_ “That’s because it’s silk, you cretin. Now get your hands off me; your calloused sword-wielding hands are ruining this fine fabric.” _

I laugh, “You’re such an arsehole.”

Baz huffs next to me, but he’s got his secretly-pleased grin on.

And then past-me moans.

“Ok! I think that’s about enough!” I exclaim.

_ “Sorry,” _ Past-me giggles.

“Wait, what’s he sorry for?” Agatha asks.

Baz waves his wand and says, “ **_Nothing to see here_ ** ” and the images stop. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“I don’t get it, why did he apologize?” Agatha asks again.

Penny puts a hand on her shoulder, and in a tone she normally reserves for me, says, “Oh, Agatha.”

There’s this blank look on Agatha’s face, then realization dawns. I groan. I’m never going to live this down.

“Simon!” She squeals looking over at me, her eyebrows flying up her forehead. “You dirty dog!”

I throw the blankets over my head. “I was under a spell!” My defense is muffled by the comforter. Which, fine. It’s a weak argument. I peek my head out and look at Baz. He looks a little deflated, like maybe blaming the start of my attraction to him on a spell wasn’t the wisest course of action. 

I put my hand on his leg. “You know what I mean.”

He nods, but I don’t think he’s fully convinced.

Penny and Agatha look at each other. “Well, I think that’s our cue.” Then the two of them leave. The girls are getting good at abrupt and convenient departures.

I sit up in the bed and open the covers to Baz. He gets under them. Slowly. Wrapping my arm around his shoulder, I lean my head on his for once. “Baz.”

“We never really talked about it, you know?” He says, sinking his head into the nook between my jaw and shoulder.

“Talked about what?” I kiss the top of his head, like he’s always doing for me.

“How we went from enemies to boyfriends so quickly.” He sighs. “How it was caused by a spell. Sometimes,” He breathes in, as if gathering courage, “Sometimes, I worry that this is all temporary.” 

I tut. “The spell’s not responsible for  _ this _ . Us. Only for opening my eyes to the possibility. Once that door was opened, I knew I couldn’t close it again. Not when I saw what could be on the other side.”

“And what’s that?”

“You,” I whisper. “And it’s been so much more than I ever could have dreamed.”

He scoffs, but it’s a fond scoff, the kind only Baz could make. “You know, for someone who couldn’t speak when I first met him, you occasionally have a way with words.” I shift so I can squeeze him tighter. “Don’t let it go to your head or anything.”

“It won’t,” I answer, and I hold him close for a while. Until he believes that when I let him go,  _ that’s _ the feeling that’s temporary. Not the holding on part.

He straightens up a bit, and faces me. “So why did you blame the spell earlier?”

I groan, and sink lower into the sheets. “ _ Because _ I was operating on my baser instincts! It’s not exactly a flattering look.”

“Well,  _ I _ was certainly flattered.”

I look up at him, and he winks. I realize that I’m very close to being flattering again.

“Come on,” He bumps my shoulder with his. “You need to wash the face sheet residue off before bed.”

We walk to the bathroom together. It’s weird; just a short month earlier, we could never have shared this small of a space. But now, we alternate who washes their face and who brushes their teeth like we’ve been doing it for years, all while sneaking glances at the other’s reflection like we’re still not allowed to. It’s sweet, intimate. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more.

**Baz**

I can’t believe I get to watch Simon prepare for bed, next to me. When he washes his face, he splashes the water decadently, with a complete disregard for how much he gets all over the floor. And when he brushes his teeth, he lets a drool of toothpaste hang on his chin until I wipe it off  _ with my bare hands _ because I’m a disgusting shell of my former self.

I love it.

I love him.

He finishes first, because I have way more steps in my pre-bed skin care routine than he does. Although, I am slowly getting him to add more steps. Well, one step. It’s progress.

Plus, despite our budding relationship, we still change separately. I did break down and get him his own pair of silk pajamas. What can I say? The old Baz can’t come to the phone right now. ‘Cause he’s dead (over heels in love with his boyfriend).

When I exit the en suite, Simon Snow is in my bed. Again. He smiles at me, and opens his arms up wide.

“Baz!” He calls, in a perfect echo of the memory I just played. Then, he pats the mattress beside him. “Come to bed.”

And it’s the best one month-aversary present he could have given me.

Now, if only I could get Bunce to stop texting me memes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I swear this is the end (although I may at some point generate some of the memes Penny sent Baz). I just couldn't stop writing after the last chapter; I knew that this story deserved first kiss as well as a spa day ending. But if you like my sense of humor and writing style, feel free to read my other fic "Tale as Old as Time" - it's full of sarcastic-y goodness. Thanks for the comments and for reading! I really appreciate it <3

**Author's Note:**

> I love spell failure fics, and I don't think there are enough of them, so I thought I'd try one out. I know that, for a sharing the bed story, this ends pretty unsatisfactorily, but Baz is too good to try anything when Simon is under a spell. Come on, now.
> 
> If you're interested in a part two, let me know. I have a vague idea of what happens next, but my primary writing fuel is praise and attention so cater to my base and narcissistic whims and see what happens (compliments also make me very uncomfortable, so this could actually backfire - who knows? I'm a mystery).
> 
> Also, in case anyone was curious, this was inspired by my husband sleeping in soft shirts.


End file.
